


Bad Influencer

by ILikeShorts



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: F/M, Fame, Insecurity, One Shot, Pokemon Gym Leaders, Rivalry, Romance, Scandal, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILikeShorts/pseuds/ILikeShorts
Summary: Raihan’s zero for ten against Leon. But the likes help, and the follows don’t hurt, either. So what if he can’t put down his phone when he should? It’s not that big a deal. Until he’s lost again. He’s blown it with Nessa. And #RaihanIsOverDay just won’t end.
Relationships: Dande | Leon & Kibana | Raihan, Kibana | Raihan/Rurina | Nessa
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Bad Influencer

You've lost again. That's zero for ten.

There are times when you're close. Times when you think you have a chance. Times when you get Leon down to his last Pokémon and you dare to believe this might finally be it.

Today was not it.

So you snap a photo. The face of defeat. And when the likes come flooding in—as the strongest Gym Leader in Galar, you have your share of fans—it feels that much better.

Until the rush fades and the emptiness returns and it doesn't anymore. But, hey. You can always post another selfie.

You're outside Wyndon Stadium on your sixth this afternoon when a voice captures your attention.

"You're doing it wrong."

Nessa. That voice, you'd recognize anywhere.

"What do you mean, I'm doing it wrong?" You'd think you'd know how to take a picture.

And if you don't, it's not for lack of practice.

You and Nessa go back. Way back to your Gym Challenge years. She was sure of herself, even at that age. And a force on the battlefield. You knew she'd get far. Everyone did.

She just sighs and shakes her head. "Give me your phone."

You do. When Nessa speaks, people listen.

"Stand over there. So the sun lights your face like that."

 _You_ listen.

"Chin up. Look at me."

Not that it's any trouble. It'd be harder to look elsewhere, with the way her hair falls to the curve of her waist in that outfit. She isn't a model for nothing.

"Okay. I got the shot."

When she hands back your phone, you're surprised at the results. You look different. Not defeated. Determined.

You like it. "Thanks. You really know your stuff."

She shrugs like it's simple. "I've worked with a lot of photographers." And with a nonchalant wave, she disappears into the crowd.

You wonder what _that_ was about.

* * *

They get to you, and you know it by now. The likes are one thing. The comments are another story.

_0 for 10? Wait till 0 for 100._

They're not what you want to see after a long day of Leon crushing your dreams. But you can never help looking.

_Raihan's gonna be Opal's age and still losing to Leon at this rate._

And in your weaker moments—which come more and more often with every loss—you find yourself believing them.

_The Darkest Day will be back before Raihan beats Leon._

Not that they're all bad. You have your fans.

But somehow it's the worst ones that stay with you, that linger in your mind at four in the morning on nights you can't sleep. Or in the heat of battle, when Leon's got your Duraludon up against the wall and you need to get your head in the game.

If you could just say something. That persistence has its rewards. That even Leon can't win _every_ time. That you're training really bloody hard, all right?

You won't. You're Raihan. You're too big a deal for that.

People know you. Galar knows you. And you don't mess around with trolls on the internet.

But fans do.

 _No._ You couldn't. It'd end you if they found out.

Only if you let them. You're smart. You won't give yourself away.

It doesn't take much to create an account. It takes even less to put the trolls in their place.

 _Raihan's efforts will pay off_ , you comment. _Leon won't know what hit him._

It's not you writing. It's RaifanNo1. Lives in Wyndon. Watches all your battles. Collects lookalike bandanas.

It _is_ you. But the world will never know.

Then your phone sounds, and for a harrowing split second, you fear you've been exposed.

But of course you haven't. It's Nessa.

_I've got a show in Hammerlocke next week. Want to drop by?_

* * *

You're famous enough to be here. You are. Don't sweat it. Your name is on the list. And they don't let just anyone in.

You're dressed to impress. You're somebody. With seven and a half million followers, the last time you checked. About fifteen minutes ago.

The show's on the roof of the Energy Plant—an inspired choice, they say. You scan the venue and soak up the scene as models and media types mill around.

It's Nessa's scene. Not yours.

But you're loving it.

You're taking pictures. A lot of pictures. Pictures with fans. Pictures of yourself. Pictures of the view from the top. It's not every night you're at an event like this.

Besides. You don't know anyone here—no one but Nessa—and it gives you something to do.

At times, when you open your DMs and it's her yet again, you think it might be more than idle conversation. And when she waves from backstage and smiles straight at you, you think maybe she isn't so wildly out of your league.

But then you watch her striding down the runway in a blaze of flashbulbs, all eyes on her.

She's out of your league.

The applause comes and goes. She's heading your way. You lift a hand to adjust your bandana, then remember you aren't wearing one. What do you say after a show? _Break a leg?_

No, you idiot. That's before.

Relax. It's Nessa. You've known her since you were ten. You talk all the time.

Here, it's not the same. The eyes remain on her, and by extension, on you. You wonder how she ever gets used to it.

You wonder if she does.

"You were great." You rack your brain for the right words. "Very…" Sophisticated. Fearless. Hot. Don't say hot. "Commanding."

"Commanding." She nods thoughtfully. "I like that."

"Thanks for the invite," you tell her, and you mean it. "That was some show."

"Take many photos?" she teases.

Inside, you're kicking yourself. You should've played it cool. Like it's just another day in the life of Raihan.

You can still play it cool. The party isn't over.

"How about one with you?" You grin, and she slips an arm around you in an alluring pose.

You've never scored this many likes this fast. Ever.

* * *

You're on the bench, Facetuning your Flygon with practiced precision. Your latest gym selfie is almost good to go.

Sometimes, when you get to thinking— _really_ thinking—you start to question your priorities.

You've lost again. Not to Leon. To a trainer endorsed by Leon himself.

Even when Leon isn't beating you, he finds a way to beat you. That's Leon. He would.

"We were just talking about the match." Your trainers are approaching, and you wish they weren't. "Why'd you start a sandstorm when the hailstorm you had going would've done the job?"

"It's my signature," you say, and you say no more.

Sandstorms get the most likes. For some reason.

They let you be, and you breathe out in relief. You need to get this pic posted before they're back with other questions you can't answer.

But first you check the comments on that photo with Nessa. Your phone's been blowing up ever since.

_Raihan and Nessa? Raihan's the man._

_I wanna be a top Gym Leader so I can hang with top models. And also top Gym Leaders._

_So are they a thing now or what?_

A thrill passes over you. You like the sound of that. But then you catch a glimpse of the rest.

_Partying? With the Gym Challenge in Hammerlocke this week? Does Raihan even try anymore?_

You weren't partying. They've got it all wrong. You went to a party. And hardly that. A fashion show. For a fellow leader. A friend. Maybe more than a friend, if she wasn't so out of your league.

It's not remotely the same thing.

_No wonder Raihan always looks dead tired on TV._

It wasn't partying, and it wasn't the show. You're just up late a lot lately. You tell yourself time and time again. You can't keep your phone next to your bed anymore.

So you're tired. No problem. You can always erase the shadows under your eyes. And you do. In every photo. You've even got an app for it.

You glare at the screen. You won't let those comments go.

 _Raihan trains harder than anybody,_ you write as RaifanNo1. _He deserves a night out once in a while._

_And who in their right mind would turn down one with Nessa? Would you?_

The world will never know.

* * *

You've lost again. To the new Champion. It only goes to show. There's always someone younger coming up behind.

But at least you look good when you lose. You have the selfies to prove it.

You'll post the best of them tonight. And then later, when the drama surrounding Rose's arrest subsides and things at the League calm down, you'll finally deal with your priorities.

Leon lost. To his own protégé, because who else.

He's not unbeatable. You just can't beat him. Which doesn't make it any better.

Nobody has a bad word to say about _Leon_. That crooked Chairman almost brought ruin to the region and the trainers Leon mentored saved the day, because of course they did. With Leon's help, because of course he was there.

And you're very grateful it's not the end of the world. But does Leon have to win at _everything_?

Nessa lost. Rumour has it she isn't taking it well.

She won't be. She never does. She puts a smile on for the crowd. It's all in a model's work, and she's very good at her job. But you've known her a long time.

You know her better than that.

So you're not surprised when she corners you in the VIP, her expression strained as though she can't hold that smile another second.

"Let's go." She grabs you by the elbow.

"Where?" You follow as she leads you out of the stadium.

"Anywhere."

* * *

You're on a bridge overlooking the horizon. Nessa's telling you all the things she couldn't inside.

Where her battle went wrong. How she'll pay for it in the gym rankings. What her agent's going to say. Why she longs for the past.

 _Your_ past.

"Sometimes I miss the old days, you know?" Momentarily, she rests her head on your shoulder. "When we were young and wandering the world and we didn't have to worry about the cameras."

The sky is lit with shades of red and gold. It'd make a killer selfie.

This _really_ isn't the time.

But think of the likes.

You pull out your phone with a guilty grin. "Can you do that again?"

" _Seriously?"_ She storms off in a rage, and you let her go.

You should've seen that coming.

* * *

They get to you, and you know it better still. Yet you can't help looking. You never learn.

_So Leon can be beaten. But who would've thought, with Raihan taking loss after loss?_

Not when your eyes go dry. Not when your head begins to ache.

_I bet Raihan hits 0 for 10 against Gloria too._

Not when the words on your laptop blur together and you have to blink to see sense.

_The question now is, when will Raihan throw in the towel? Or should I say bandana?_

As much sense as there is on the internet, anyway.

 _Raihan doesn't quit,_ you type. _This only means he'll be back for a rematch._

It's a busy night for RaifanNo1. You can't find it in you to stop.

Even when you should.

_Will Leon take over as Galar's strongest Gym Leader? Anything Raihan can do, he can do better._

_Not true_ , you type. _Raihan doesn't get lost on the way to the Pokémon Center._

Even when it has nothing to do with you.

_Did you see Nessa's face when the cameras were off? I wouldn't want to be a trainer at her gym._

_I would_ , you type. _In a heartbeat._

But what do you care? You've blown it with Nessa.

You don't _need_ Nessa. You can take your own damn pictures.

You've got a penthouse flat. Classic Hammerlocke stone meets modern plate glass windows. You've got a flash new bandana. One that cost more than any strip of fabric ought to.

The one you were saving for that final battle you never made.

But it's fine _._ You're fine. You don't _need_ the Champion Cup. You need likes, and you need them now.

You rehearse a winning pose in the mirror, and you snap a photo so they'll see. You're not bothered. You're better than ever. And you have great hair.

There. It's done. You've shown the world.

You fall miserably into bed the first chance you get.

* * *

You awaken to the unrelenting sound of your phone. At first, you think it's a good thing.

Your selfies are racking up the likes. They'll ask you to endorse a new line of bandanas. You'll have more sponsors than Leon. You hope he hates you for it.

Then you look.

You're trending. And not in the way you want to be.

#Byehan. #RaihanIsOverDay. To add insult to injury, the internet's split on how to pronounce your name.

It was only a selfie. But it's the background they're talking about.

Your laptop. A reflection in the mirror in a window. You never did sign off. They don't miss a thing.

You're RaifanNo1. They know.

And they're not taking it easy on you.

_Raihan turning out to be his own number one fan is the least surprising thing I've seen all year._

_So how many of Raihan's followers are real? I'm guessing 45._

_Where's Raihan? Probably making more accounts to defend himself as we speak._

It's everywhere. You're finished. There's no deleting it now. There's no coming back from this.

You tell yourself it isn't your fault.

That it never would've happened, if not for those trolls. That it never would've happened, if not for that mirror. You shield your eyes as the shards fly and you process what you've done.

You never thought you'd throw your laptop at the mirror.

* * *

You leave it there as the days go by, in a mess of broken glass. It feels darkly appropriate somehow, a monument to your shattered image.

Your phone rings and chimes and buzzes, but you don't respond to any of it. The missed calls and texts and DMs pile up.

Trolls. Nessa. A crisis PR firm, offering competitive rates for a range of services. Your mum. The League. More trolls. Nessa. Blogs. Tabloids. Talk shows. Nessa. Another crisis PR firm, offering more competitive rates than its competitors. Not the League again. Leon. Nessa.

You shut it off, as though shutting off the world. You'd do that too, if you could.

Sleep doesn't come for you that night.

You lie there, staring into the stone wall. It's like a metaphor for your existence. Suddenly everything seems that way, and you wonder if you've been holed up in your flat too long.

A wall, you remind yourself. It's just a _wall_.

Hitting a wall, time after time, and going back for more. Never pausing to rethink your approach. Never changing a thing. Challenging Leon. Losing. Trying again. Losing. Trying harder. Losing. Losing. Losing.

You know what you have to do. Part of you always has.

When morning dawns, you pick up the pieces.

* * *

They're staring at you. Pointing in your direction. Whispering words they think you don't hear. Sneaking photos when they think you're not looking.

You can't blame them. It's the first time you've shown your face since #RaihanIsOverDay. You would've done the same thing.

But you walk into the soon-to-be Battle Tower with your head held high. You don't care what they think anymore.

You do. But you're working on it. For real.

Leon looks genuinely happy to see you when you find him in the former Chairman's office. He's embarked on the task of relaunching the Rose Tower as a world-class battle facility.

It's going to be huge.

Leon would take his defeat and turn it into a triumph like this. It's why he's so much _better_.

"You just saved me a trip to your place," he mentions, from behind his new desk. "Nessa's been hassling me to check on you."

All those calls and texts and DMs. Maybe you should've answered one.

"There was something online, she said. And for all she knew, you'd locked yourself up in the vault by now." Leon leans back in his chair, almost too casually. "I told her it couldn't be that bad."

And then you realize. He has no idea.

He's not trying to be tactful. He's got more on his mind than who the internet hates this week. You're beginning to understand why Leon accomplishes so much in life.

Why you don't.

"You all right, mate?" He's noticed your frown at last.

Sometimes you get so hung up on your rivalry with Leon, you forget he's your best friend.

You lie to him.

"Yeah." You never let Leon see you sweat. "But I've made a complete arse of myself."

He laughs. "So what else is new?"

"Not much." You laugh too, only faltering for an instant. "Still zero for ten. And I'm not about to make it zero for eleven. Something's got to change."

"You can hone your battle skills once the Tower's up and running…"

Something bigger. "I'm leaving Galar."

And now you've said it.

"To take on some unsuspecting region instead?" There's not an ounce of enthusiasm in Leon's voice. "Have a Champion time."

To think you'd give up that easily.

"Close." You rise with renewed determination. "To challenge the Leagues, put new tactics to the test, get stronger along the way, and come home to beat _you_."

His usual spark returns. "That's more like it."

"Gloria, too," you add. "Might as well, after I win."

He grins. "I can't wait to watch you try."

You match his tone. "I can't wait to do it before you."

There's just one last favour to ask.

"Here." You hand your phone to Leon, having second thoughts even now. "Don't give this back till I do."

But you're going through with it. You _are_.

"What for?" He raises an eyebrow.

You tell him the least of it. "I've spent way too much time on this thing."

And you let go.

"I'll say." He deposits it in a drawer, and it's gone, just like that. "So how are you planning to get around?"

"Some of us don't need a phone to figure out which way is north, you know."

Old rivalries never die.

* * *

After trying both the stadium and the lighthouse to no avail, you find Nessa at the Hulbury pier. She's always been good at fishing.

You've always been good at false confidence. Straightening your bandana out of habit, you approach with a brazen smile. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm cancelled."

She's caught an Arrokuda. Or possibly a Barraskewda. Water types are her specialty, not yours.

"And you thought you'd just show up?" She reels in her line much harder than she needs to. "After ignoring all my messages?"

You hope she doesn't hit you with the fish.

"I would've called." You pause for effect, anticipating her reaction. "If I had my phone on me."

She tosses a Dive Ball at the Pokémon and sets it aside, standing firm and unyielding.

Maybe you ought to get real.

"Times like this I miss the old days too," you say more quietly, abandoning any pretense of pride. "I'd be a lot less of a joke if it weren't for that camera on it."

A flicker of recognition crosses her face. "So you _do_ pay attention."

It's a retort you deserve.

"Not enough," you admit. "Let's talk. No photos."

Her features soften as she laughs. "I know you too well to believe that."

"Search me." You throw up your hands in mock surrender.

Nessa runs her eyes over you appraisingly. "Tempting, but no."

Maybe, just maybe, you haven't blown it yet.

She's taking out her phone. Calling yours. Thinking it'll ring and catch you out, you expect.

But it doesn't, and her mouth drops open in a way her agent wouldn't like. _"Leon?"_

You act as if you aren't listening.

"Did he lose a bet? …No, don't give it back. We both know he needs the break… I was _not_ freaking out. I just… So I was a little concerned. Anyone would be…"

"So," Nessa says, once she's hung up. "You gave your phone to Leon."

"Until I beat him." You nod.

"You might as well buy a new one now."

You've got a lot of people to prove wrong. This could turn out to be some journey.

* * *

She brings you to the town's highlands, where flowers line the paths and clovers bloom among the fields. You notice these things now.

You're not watching your phone. Not risking a glance when her gaze wanders. Not feeling that familiar vibration and knowing you shouldn't, but awaiting the likes you'll soon find.

Just Nessa.

You've told her. You're leaving.

She'll miss you—and you're struck with a pang of regret, because she really did say that—but it's what you have to do.

"I could get a Pokétch," you joke, lazing beside her on the grass.

"That's an antique." She swats at you playfully. "Ancient history. Does it even take pictures?"

"Doubt it." You shrug. But somehow you think you'd manage just fine.

It's a great day for pictures. Not a cloud in the sky. The sea down below is a rolling blue. An ideal selfie backdrop if you've ever seen one. Instinctively, you reach into your pocket.

 _Oh._ Right.

Nessa doesn't let you off. "Looking for something?"

You take her hand instead. "I'll get used to it."

"Good," she declares, lacing her fingers through yours. "I happen to like you without your phone."

So do you.

You'll miss her. A lot. But your travels will lead you back to Galar soon enough. And she's always overseas for photoshoots on location. Maybe someday you can meet up.

She really did say that.

"I'm still here another month," you hazard, hoping you're not pushing your luck. "I've got stuff to get sorted. Loose ends at the gym. We could hang out."

And she smiles at you. "We could."

Not the demure smile in her modelling shots that never felt quite like her. A bright, spontaneous smile that tugs at the corners of her eyes.

That's how you can tell she means it.

Here in the Hulbury hills, away from the flashes of the runway and the glare of the stadium lights, she doesn't seem so out of your league.

She's Nessa. The same Nessa you've known all these years. And she's kissing you.

If only you'd realized, you think, as you deepen the kiss and the world fades to a distant memory. You could've had your priorities straight ages ago.


End file.
